


And Since We've No Place To Go

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cait and Phil and a winter storm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Since We've No Place To Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LJC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LJC/gifts).



"What the hell, Phil!" Cait Barry yelled over the wind as Phil Boyce struggled with the ice covering the lockpad on the door of his cabin. It was . . . well, it was winter on the Cape. What did she expect? For that matter, what did he expect?

He expected to be able to get into his own damn house, that's what he expected. He chipped off another bit of ice, ignored Cait's whining, and was finally able to get a finger on the sensor. Hopefully it's not too cold to work, he thought belatedly, but the door made a strange noise as if it were grumbling and then slid open, throwing bits of ice at them. He recoiled briefly, but then stepped over the mound of snow and into the cabin.

Cait followed him. "Oh, damn, it's still cold in here." She rubbed her upper arms briskly.

"It'll warm up in a few minutes," Phil said, checking the temperature controls on the wall console. It wasn't as cold as she made it sound; it was well above freezing, perhaps as much as 14 or 15 degrees C. "Lights, fifty percent."

"It better," she muttered as the room lit partway.

"Hey now."

"What part of frostbite do you find romantic?" she asked, holding out her hands in their thin gloves.

He took her right hand, tugged the glove off carefully, and cupped her thoroughly red and not in the least frostbit fingers in his. "This part?" he said.

She struggled not to smile for a few seconds before giving in. Of course, the room was starting to warm up, and Phil was starting to sweat in his coat and wool scarf. He pressed a kiss to her fingertips and then dropped her hand, raising his to unsnap his coat and wrestle it off. He set the coat on the coat rack, unwound the scarf--knitted for him by Cait during one of her random knitting splurges with Andorian yarn--and set it on top of the coat.

He didn't notice that Cait was right next to him until she plucked the matching hat off of his head and dropped it on top of the coat and scarf. "I can't believe you wore those in public," she said.

"I'm just waiting for the matching mittens," he said.

Cait snorted. "I ran out of yarn."

Phil gave a half-smile to that, and picked up her left hand, still gloved, pulling carefully at the fabric over each fingertip until the glove slid free. He raised her hand to his mouth and blew hot breath over her fingers, watching her face carefully.

She inhaled, slowly and carefully, and exhaled unsteadily, her eyes on his.

"C'mon," he said, lowering their hands to waist level and tugging gently. She followed him into the living room, and he said, "Computer, fireplace."

Invisible until he'd given the command, flames shot up inside a box set into the wall. "Ohhhh," Cait said, stopping in her tracks. She dropped Phil's hand and scampered over to the fireplace, kneeling and holding out her hands. "Ohhhh," she repeated. "This is so amazing."

Phil snagged an afghan off the back of the couch. "Trade you," he said. Cait looked up and nodded; shrugging out of her coat, she pulled off her hat and scarf and shoved them into the sleeve before handing it to Phil. He took the coat and draped the blanket over her shoulders; she took the ends of it and pulled it into her chest.

He hung the coat on the coatrack next to his, pulled off his boots, and hauled their bags into the bedroom before returning to the front room. By then, Cait had removed her boots and shifted so her feet were closest to the flames. Grabbing a sleeping bag from the front closet--the old kind of bag, that actually had padding in it--he unrolled it and lay it on the ground behind her. She turned and looked at him, and scooted so she was sitting on the sleeping bag.

He knelt beside her and pulled his sweater over his head, leaving himself in a t-shirt and jeans.

Cait snickered. "Your hair is standing up." She tried to brush it back down, but her sweater was staticky as well, and she ended up shocking both of them when she touched him. "Ow."

"Clearly, we're meant to be," he said, and she laughed.

He wrapped his arms around her, sliding under the blanket, and she leaned back against him, tucking herself under his chin as best she could. "Romantic yet?" he murmured in her ear a few minutes later.

She turned, mouthed along his jaw, and whispered, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow."


End file.
